48 FIELD AND HEDGEROW. 
cloudless blue sky blown pale, a summer sun blown 
cool, deep draughts of refreshing air to man and horse, 
clear definition of red-tile roof and conical oast, perfect 
colour of soft ash-green trees. In the evening, fourtecn 
black swifts rushing together through the upper atmo- 
sphere with shrill cries, sometimes aside and on the 
tip of one wing, with a whirl descending, a black trail, 
to the tiled ridge they dwell in. Fine weather after 
this. ; 
A swooning August day, with a hot east wind, from 
which there is no escape, which gives no air to the chest 
—you breathe and are not satisfied with the inspiration ; 
it does not fill; there is no life in the killed atmosphere; 
It is a vacuum of heat, and yet the strong hot wind bends 
the trees, and the tall firs wrestle with it as they did with 
Sinis, the Pine-bender, bowed down and rebounding as if 
they would whirl their cones away like a catapult. Masses 
of air are moving by, and yet there is none to breathe. No 
escape in the shadow of hedge or wood, or in the darkened 
room ; darkness excludes the heat that comes with light, 
but the heat of the oven-wind cannot be shut out. 
Some monstrous dragon of the Chinese sky pants his 
fiery breath upon us, and the brown grass stalks threaten 
to catch flame in the field. The grain of wheat that was 
full of juice dries hard in the ears, and water is no more 
good for thirst. There is not a cloud in the sky; but at 
night there is heavy rain, and the flowers are beaten’ 
down. There is a thunder-wind that blows at intervais 
when great clouds are visibly gathering over the hayfield. 
It is almost a calm; but from time to time a breath 
comes, and a low mournful cry sounds in the hollow 
farmhouse —the windows and doors are open, and the 
men and women have gone out to make hasty help in 
